


Mommy Knows Best

by clairell



Series: Mommy Knows Best [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ABDL, Ageplay, Diapers, Fluff, Gen, Headspace, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, Little!Bruce, Little!Tony, Mommy!Natasha, Non-Sexual Age Play, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Wetting, consensual ageplay, little!Clint, little!steve, nsap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-11-18 13:29:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11291640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairell/pseuds/clairell
Summary: There are few people in this world, Clint Barton supposes, who you would trust with your life.There are even fewer who you would trust with this.ORNatasha helps her boys cope with the stresses of superhero life.





	1. There's a Little Part of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! I have been excited to post this fic for a while now, and I hope you all like it.

There are few people in this world, Clint Barton supposes, who you would trust with your life.

There are even fewer who you would trust with _this_.

He is thinking about this as his bedroom door swings open unannounced.  He sits up slow and takes the pacifier out of his mouth.  His eyes are big and scared, and wet, now.  His chest heaves with labored breaths of anxiety.

“Nat…” His voice is so small and high-pitched, and he doesn’t think he can get any more words out without crying.  He throws the duvet over his lap to hide the diaper he’s wearing.  And he can’t do anything about the teddy bear and the baby blanket sitting in his lap.  He just presses his lips together and waits for her to say something.

She doesn’t; she just walks forward a little.  Her eyes soften, and she looks him over, taking it all in.  She reaches out and takes his hand in her own.

Clint does all he can not to shake.  He blinks up at her.

“Can I sit with you?” She asks, voice velvet-soft.  Clint looks down at his lap, and she knows why he’s hesitating.  “I don’t care, it’s okay.”  So he lets her pull back the duvet and crawl in next to him.

Her smile isn’t forced, but it’s brighter than normal, kinder than normal.  She _looks_ softer than normal—her hair is pulled back into a bun and she’s wearing plaid pajamas and no makeup.  You almost wouldn’t think she’s a trained assassin.

She reaches out and uncurls Clint’s fingers.  She takes the pacifier from his palm and pokes it between his lips.  “Better?” She asks.

Clint gives a shallow nod.

She turns on the TV and asks him what he wants to watch.  He doesn’t know that to say, so he just shrugs at her.  She picks _101 Dalmatians_ , and Clint is okay with that.

He gets lost in it after a while, in that way he always does.  He’s just little, and he’s just watching a movie.  He suckles on his pacifier, and his teddy bear is pressed against his chest, the soft, chocolate fur on its head tickling underneath Clint’s chin.  He wraps his blanket around his shoulders, and he doesn’t even mind when he feels Natasha’s arm around him, pulling him a little closer.

That is, until he feels that familiar spasm in this bladder.

He squirms away all of a sudden, and Natasha thinks he’s just not comfortable with her touching him, so she moves away a little, gives him back his personal space.  But when he keeps squirming and kicking his legs, she knows what’s really going on.

“Clint?” She asks cautiously.  “Do you need to…?”  She gestures down with her eyes.

Clint’s breath hitches and he shakes his head. 

“It’s okay, you know.”  He turns away, face cherry red.  “I won’t watch, just take care of your business.”

Clint starts crying again, and even he doesn’t really know why.  His first thought is to tell Natasha to leave.  He doesn’t want her there when he…you know. 

He watches her from the corners of his teary eyes, how gentle she is as she hands over a tissue for him to wipe his face, the concern etched into her eyes.  And maybe he realizes something.  Vulnerability aside, he doesn’t really want to be alone.  He never _wants_ to be alone when he’s like this.  It’s just that he never thought someone would stay this long, would care this much, would accept it all so quickly.  So maybe he doesn’t want her to leave.

He calms down a little and folds into her touch once more.  She smiles at him and turns up the TV a little so no sounds can be heard. Clint lets go and instantly feels relief.

“Are you done?” Natasha whispers, and Clint nods slowly.  “Do you want me to help you get clean?”

Clint feels something pull in his stomach, but it’s not fear.  It feels almost like butterflies. 

He points to the drawer on his bedside table.  Natasha pulls out a fresh diaper, powder, wipes.

Clint kicks back the covers and lies down flat—that position of total vulnerability, of being totally exposed.  She gets on her knees and pushes up his shirt a little to reveal his belly button, then undoes the tapes.

He’s a little nervous about her seeing his…everything.  He closes his eyes, thinking that, maybe if he can’t see her that she can’t see him.  She rubs his knee and starts humming a little to calm him down. It’s almost like she’s done this before, Clint thinks.

It’s over quick—neither of them want it to last forever.

“Is it tight enough?” She asks, shifting the diaper around a little.  Clint nods.  “Not too tight?”  Clint shakes his head.

They cuddle up next to each other again, a little closer than before.  Clint rests his head on Natasha’s shoulder and yawns.  

“Sleepy?” Nat asks a little playfully.

“Bedtime,” he squeaks, his first word in an hour.  His eyes droop a little, and he slides under the covers a little bit more.  He paws around for his teddy bear and gives it a quick kiss on the cheek before tucking it under his arm.

Natasha takes his blanket and lays it over him.  She looks at the pattern for the first time—rattles and diapers and pacifiers on a baby blue background.  She climbs off the bed and tucks his blankets in close to his body.  She gives him a little kiss on the forehead, and he doesn’t protest.

As she leaves he looks up at her with thankful eyes.

“Need anything else before I go?” She asks.

He points to the nightlight on the floor near the outlet.  She crouches down and plugs it it for him, and it illuminates the room in a calming, gentle light.  “Goodnight, Clint,” she says, waving a little as she shuts the door behind her.

She goes straight for the elevator.  She knows of someone else who might be in need of a tucking in yet tonight, too.


	2. But You Already Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha finds Tony in the lab and puts him to bed.

When she emerges from Clint’s room, Natasha finds that the tower is quiet.  Clint is asleep now, most likely, and the others probably were hours ago.  The city light comes in like a haze through the windows—something Natasha has never gotten used to—though they’re too high up to hear the city sounds.  

She takes the elevator up to Tony’s room.  She knocks on his door and lets herself in, already smiling at the thought of seeing her little boy.  

The lights are off.  He’s not there.  She frowns.

“Tony?” She calls down the hallway, hoping he’s in the bathroom or something.

No answer.

She takes the elevator to her floor.  He’s not there either.

There’s only one place he could possibly be.

Natasha storms down into the lab in her sock feet and her bun messily bouncing behind her.  She throws open the door and finds Tony sitting on a stool, head resting on his workstation.  She sighs and goes over to him, bends down next to him.

“Tony?” She whispers.  “Baby boy, wake up.”

He flinches and sits up.  “Mommy?” He asks, voice still heavy with sleep.

Natasha smiles and picks off the piece of circuit board stuck to Tony’s forehead.  “You were supposed to be in bed.”

Tony looks down.  “You weren’t there.”

It’s not really a stool to share, but Natasha forces her way onto it so that she can hold Tony close.  “I’m sorry, honey.  I was busy.”

When he looks up, Tony’s eyes are wet.  “Busy with what?”

“I…” But she doesn’t want him to cry, so she forces a smile and says, “I’ll tell you about it in the morning, okay?  Right now, we need to get you into bed.”

She helps Tony stand on his wobbly legs.  “Am I in trouble?” He asks, as she goes around and turns off all the lights before taking him down to the elevator.

“No, of course not.”  She gives him a kiss on the cheek.  “If anyone should be in trouble.  It would be Mommy, right?”

She thinks she hears him let out a little laugh.

When they get up to Tony’s floor, she nudges him toward the bathroom.  “Teeth first.  Diaper.  PJs.  Then cuddles.”

Tony nods and reaches right for his toothbrush.  Natasha helps him put the right amount of paste on the brush, and watches him in the mirror.  She leans against the wall, tangles and untangles her fingers in his dark hair, and he watches her with big brown eyes, still a little wet.

He spits and rinses, then stands back quietly as he waits for Natasha to gather the changing stuff.  She nods for him to lie down on the changing mat she’s spread out.

“You’re really wet, buddy,” she says, making a face as she takes a baby wipe over him. “You shouldn’t wait this long.  You don’t want to get a rash.”

Tony whines.  “Sorry,” he squeaks.

“Why didn’t you come get me?” She asks, sprinkling baby powder over him.

“You weren’t there.”

It stings a little more than it should, but she shoulders it.  She pauses for a moment, grabbing Tony’s feet and touching them gently, not tickling.  “I’m sorry, sweetie.  I’m really sorry,” she says, taping his diaper and helping him stand.

“It’s okay,” he says, very quiet, wrapping his arms around his waist as if to protect himself from something.

When they get to Tony’s bedroom, he says that he really wants to wear his cowboy jammies, and Natasha doesn’t argue.

“Now cuddles?” He asks, voice very small, almost like he’s a little scared to.

And Natasha wants to pick him up and smother him with kisses, strangle him in a hug.  She feels worse than anything, and she just wants him to know how sorry she is—she looks up and sees him climbing into his bed, picking up his stuffed dog and rubbing the soft fur against his cheek—especially when he’s being cute like this.

So she doesn’t waste a minute and climbs right in next to him, puts an arm around him.  He nestles his face into the shoulder of her soft pajamas.  He closes his eyes and breathes in deep the smell of her dark, rosy perfume.

“Tell Mommy about your day,” she says after a while.

“You made oatmeal for breakfast,” he said softly.  “And you put chocolate chips in it.”  Natasha nods, smiling sweetly.  “And then you had to go away.  So I went down to the lab.”

Natasha feels Tony relaxing into her a bit more.  “You were there all day?  What were you working on?”

“The cooling system in the suit.  It broke.”

“And you fixed it all by yourself?”  Tony gives a proud little nod.  “I’m proud of you, Tonybear.”

He blushes a little.  “Thanks, Mommy.”  He hugs her a little closer.  

Natasha asks JARVIS to play _Cars—_ Tony’s favorite—on the TV, and he’s instantly in her lap, eyes all wide.  She wraps her arms around him, hugging him from behind.  

He sighs in contentment.  “Mommy?” He asks, just as Lightning McQueen tears through Radiator Springs.  

“Yes?”

“Can you stay with me all night?”  He spins around to look her in the eyes.  “Pretty please?”

“You want me to stay?” She asks, hopeful.  He nods and nods.  She smiles warmly.  “I’ll stay.”

It doesn’t take long for Tony’s eyelids to get heavy, and then to fall.  Natasha watches him fall asleep as it happens; he slides down a little, rubs his feet together, pulls his stuffed dog into the small of his chest, and then settles down.  His breathing starts to slow, then his jaw drops open.  His nose twitches a little.

Natasha leans down and kisses the side of his face.  JARVIS gets the lights.

This is her happy place—with her little boy in his jammies, all wrapped up tight in a blanket and her arms, sleeping like a rock.  There’s just nothing else like it in the world.  And Tony will be okay, she decides.  He can be sorted out in the morning over waffles and maybe a little extra syrup bribery.

But her mind wanders to Clint.  Was she wrong to leave him?  She hopes he’s sleeping and not tossing and turning through a nightmare, or worse, trying to find her.  He’d successfully taken care of himself for…well, she doesn’t know how long.  She cannot shake the idea from her head. Should she really have left him alone?

“Mr. Barton has been sound asleep for an hour,” JARVIS says quietly, seeming to recognize Natasha’s thought process.

That assuages her.  Her heart rate slows and she tries to get comfortable.

Maybe _two_ little boys need to be sorted out over waffles in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Next update in a few days :)


	3. Even If the Eye Can't See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Natasha makes breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long, guys! I promise I'm back in the swing of things again. If you like this story, please check out my profile for "Little Family," another ageplay work of mine!

So Natasha makes waffles.  They weren’t exactly in the curriculum of her training, so she burns the edges a little bit, and the batter is kind of lumpy, but they’re waffles nonetheless.

Tony, perched on a barstool, watches with big eyes; she can tell he’s fighting his headspace.  He plays with his hands, pressing his thumbs together, then his pointer fingers, then his middle fingers, and so on. His foot taps against the leg of the stool, making a tinkling noise that sort of soothes him.  Natasha sets a plate of waffles in front of him, steam rising.  She also gives him the bottle of syrup without a warning look, which is code for: Tony can use as much syrup as he wants.  Which makes him smile to himself a little.  It’s a good start to the day, really.

Bruce comes down next, feet dragging, eyelids drooping.  He catches sight of Tony’s pool of syrup with some waffles floating in it, and his stomach pangs.  He looks at Tony’s plate and then up at Natasha, seemingly asking, “Can I have some, too?”

She hands him a plate with two freshly steaming ones, and while he doesn’t use nearly as much syrup, it makes him smile, too.

“Coffee?” Natasha asks, directing her question at Bruce because Tony’s not really _allowed_ to have coffee—it makes him more jittery than he already is.  Bruce nods big, like he’s been waiting all night for a cup, and Natasha pours him one.

Meanwhile, Clint is realizing how much he hates boxers.

He lies on the floor, sits up a little bit as he untapes his wet diaper.  He runs a wipe over himself to get clean.  He thinks about last night, about how much better Natasha is at this than he is, about how calm she made him feel during the whole ordeal.  He wonders, vaguely, if it’ll ever happen again.  He hopes it does.

The fabric of his blue plaid boxers is soft, sure, but he doesn’t like the way it just hangs off his body. There’s no support or security about them.  They’re just _there_.  He puts on a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, and looks at himself in the mirror.  Back to normal.

Would the others even suspect a thing?

He takes the elevator down and meets the others in the kitchen, sitting at the bar as well.  He claims the last two waffles for himself.  It’s quiet, like normal.  Everyone is just eating—Tony and Bruce on their second helpings, Natasha leaning over the counter, and Steve, who had snuck down sometime between Bruce and Clint, just finishing vacuuming up his breakfast.

The deal is, whoever cooks doesn’t clean.  And since, more often than not, Natasha’s been doing breakfast, the others have rotated dishes responsibility.  Today is Tony’s turn.

He fills the sink with water and soap, and scrapes off the hardening syrup with the sponge.  It’s kind of a monotonous task, but relaxing in its monotony.  He’s just finishing up, rinsing off the plates and staking them in the rack, when the running water starts to get to him. He dances a little, step-touching his feet, then opting to cross his legs together.  He bounces up and down a bit, loses track of what he’s doing, and drops a clean plate back into the dirty sink.  He sighs heavily at himself and picks it back up, starting the process all over again.

Everyone is still sitting in the kitchen, just talking or drinking coffee, or reading the newspaper or whatever.  Clint is wiping down the countertops and putting everything back in its place.  Thing is, Tony doesn’t like using his diaper in front of people, even if they can’t see.  It just feels wrong, like he’s on display or something.  He knows he has to finish these dishes, and he doesn’t want to leave in the middle of an unfinished task.  He’ll make it, he decides for himself.

Natasha looks on knowingly, at the increasing speed at which Tony is tapping his foot, the way his body is kind of bent in on itself.  She can’t step in—she doesn’t want to embarrass him—but she hopes he’s alright.

Two more plates to rinse, and Tony can’t make it. All the heat in his body rushes to his cheeks and he lets go, momentary relief coming to him that is immediately replaced by shame.  He quickly finishes up the dishes and heads for the elevator.

Clint watches him go, taking note of the way he sort of waddles away.

Natasha excuses herself about five minutes later to go after him.

+

It’s a relatively normal day; everyone does whatever they do.

Clint goes off to the range to do some target practice.  He doesn’t need the practice, but he needs that calmness it brings him, that certainty.  That sound of the bow releasing a sharp arrow that pierces the target clean in the center—it clears his head, somehow.  It doesn’t let him think about anything else.

Tony is always in the lab, and today is no different.  He hasn’t even announced to the others what he’s working on—he just works.  He likes that Natasha comes down every so often and checks on him, changes him if he needs it.  He doesn’t normally like to be interrupted, but exceptions can be made for Mommy.

Steve goes down to the gym and trains, and Natasha usually goes with him.  She doesn’t say it’s to keep an eye on him, but it definitely is.

Bruce plays by himself in his room, sometimes.  He’ll tell the others he’s doing yoga or meditating so he can have an hour or so of privacy.  But instead, he goes under his bed, lifts the skirt, and pulls out a cardboard box full of action figures, Legos, toy cars, puzzles, and all the other things.

Today it’s cars.

He draws a makeshift start line in the carpet with his finger and lines two small cars behind it.  “On your mark…get set…” He says, and on, “GO!” he pushes the cars as hard as he can, and the one which goes the furthest—the red one in this case—wins.  He smiles wide and starts all over again with a new set of cars.

He could do this for hours; racing cars back and forth, then pretending to jump them off surfaces and do flips and turns in the air before they land.  It doesn’t take him but ten minutes to slip into his headspace, and then he’s giggling and spinning around and bouncing all over the place.

Natasha is the only one who has the passcode for the closed-loop video feed from Bruce’s room.  She watches him sometimes, and he doesn’t mind that.  He knows it’s there to keep him safe.  Sometimes he’ll even look up and wave to the camera if he knows she’s watching.

She watches him playing around, and is all but heartbroken when JARVIS asks, “Mr. Banner?  Master Stark requests your presence in the lab.”

Bruce pauses mid-car-jump.  His lip wobbles.  He puts his car back in the box and slumps down on his bed.  He presses his palms over his eyes.  He doesn’t want to be big just yet.  He doesn’t want to stop playing.  He looks at his cars strewn all over.  He could just leave them, right?  Then they all would still be there when he came back later to play with them.  He wipes a few stray tears on the back of his hand and stands up.  He heads for the elevator and leaves his bedroom door wide open.


	4. The Heart Will Always Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha helps Steve take a bath, with a little interruption.

Natasha always helps Steve take a bath after the gym.

He doesn’t like her to watch him get undressed, so she sits on the edge of the tub with her head turned away and her eyes pointed in a different direction as he shucks off his sweat-stained t-shirt and bottoms.  She runs the water for him, just warm, and pours bubble bath under the faucet, and when she hears the diaper tapes tearing open, she turns the water off.  Steve slides in slowly, his muscles loosen at the touch of the water, and covers himself with some rather strategically placed bubbles.  “Ready,” he says, not sounding like Steve at all.

Natasha turns around and smiles at him.  She knows that Steve’s had body problems his whole life. Years ago, when he was so small, he was so weak and sickly that his body prevented him from doing the one thing he’d always wanted to do.  Then, when he got the chance to become the soldier he’d always wanted to be, his body seemed marked _for display only_.  And now—even now, having settled into himself—he still feels, at times, like a puppy who hasn’t grown into his paws.

So he likes how Natasha doesn’t really talk as she washes him.

She pulls the small, inconspicuous box of toys out from under the sink and admires the way Steve sort of lifts up to get a better look at them.  His eyes get big as he reaches for a bright yellow rubber duck and a plastic battleship and plops them in the water in front of him. Natasha takes a washcloth up and down his back, and he makes quiet boat noises as he pushes the ship around in circles.  She can feel his body relaxing into her touch, and she knows she’s got little Steve when he giggles as she washes under his arms.

“Does that tickle?” She asks.

He gives an enthusiastic nod and smiles all big, his eyes alight.  He pulls his arms in on himself to prevent her from tickling him any further, and she laughs at him.

“You’re not going to let me finish, are you?”

He shakes his head.  “Tickles!”

She wrinkles her nose.  “But you’re kinda smelly,” she says.

“Am not!” He feigns shock.  “So are you!”

“No, I’m not.  I already took a shower, remember?”

Steve crosses his arms over his chest as if to make a point.

Natasha sighs pleasantly; she knows he’s only playing up.  “What if I promise not to tickle?”

“Promise?”

“ _Promise._ ”

Steve shrugs and lifts his arms a little bit.  Natasha is quick about it, but even so, a few stray giggles escape.

Natasha is good at giving baths, Steve decides.  She knows to go slow enough that he gets to play with his toys for a while, she uses the vanilla-scented bubbles, which are the best, and she always tells jokes as she washes his private parts, so that he’s laughing and hardly has to think about it.

“Ready to get out?” She asks she rinses the No Tears shampoo from his hair.  Steve nods and lets Natasha help him stand.  “Not looking, I promise,” she says reassuringly as she reaches for a fluffy towel.  She wraps it around Steve’s shoulders, and he holds it closed as he steps out onto the rug.

Once he’s dry, Natasha spreads a dry towel on the floor and reaches in one of the drawers, behind a stash of toilet paper, for the diaper supplies. Steve lies on the towel and shivers as Natasha pulls back the one he’s wrapped around himself.  He turns his head away, and his cheeks flush pink.  He doesn’t really like this part; it’s uncomfortable, someone touching him this way.  Sometimes he’ll get squirmy, but he’s learned that that only prolongs the process.  He stays as still as possible, his eyes closed.  But he trusts Natasha.  So he doesn’t fight it.

“Let’s get you in some comfy clothes,” she says once it’s over, helping Steve sit up.

He shifts a little.  “I…”

Natasha looks around the bathroom, not surprised to find that Steve forgot to bring them up for bath time.  He looks up at her with scared eyes and plays with the waistband of his diaper as if to point out that it would be a less-that-ideal situation for him to have to do the walk of shame back down to his floor wearing it.  She kisses the side of his face.  “I’ll run down and get them,” she says, and he looks very relieved.  “Any specific pair?”

He wants to request the pajamas with dinosaurs printed on them, but just shakes his head.  She gives him another little kiss and says she’ll, “Be right back.”

But as soon as she steps into the hall, JARVIS has a notification.

“Miss Romanov. Your presence is requested in Mr. Barton’s quarters.”

Natasha steps onto the elevator.

“Is it urgent?”

“It seems so.”

Natasha  shakes her head.  She presses the number for Clint’s floor and elevator whizzes up instead of down.  “Tell Steve I’ll be a minute,” she says as she steps off.

“It may be more than a minute.”

And while she hopes that isn’t true, she hesitantly pushes Clint’s door open and finds him sitting on the floor with his back against his bed, his hands covering his face.

“What’s wrong?” She asks softly, crouching down to be at his level.  “Are you okay?”

“It’s so stupid,” he replies, muffled behind the cage of his hands.  “It’s just really small, but it hurts, but I’ve had lots of worse things happen.  And I just.  I didn’t know what to do, and I just started crying, and I…”

Natasha shifts so that they’re sitting next to each other.  She sits very close, so she’s not touching him exactly, but so that he can feel her body warmth radiating from her.  “Can you tell me what happened?” She asks slowly.

“I was at the range and I was putting my bow away and I walked over to the locker and I opened it and it hit me in the face.”

It might be a little funny, but Natasha doesn’t let a hint of that register on her face.  She reaches over to peel back Clint’s hands from his face.  They shake as he lowers them into his lap.  There’s a little cut, just above his eyebrow, in the middle of a larger, purpling bruise.  There’s a little blood, mostly on Clint’s hands, but nothing serious.  He can’t look at her.

“I…I was just really scared and I don’t know why. It hurt, and I didn’t know what to do, so I asked JARVIS if he could get you because I…I didn’t want to be by myself.”

“That’s okay,” Natasha says, kissing the unscathed side of his face.  “I’m gonna go get you a bandaid and we’ll clean you up real quick, okay?” She can tell by the widening of his eyes that he doesn’t want her to leave him there alone.  “I’ll be fast, I promise.” 

He nods slowly, and she fast-walks toward the bathroom down the hall.

“Miss Romanov, Mr. Rogers is growing restless.”

“Tell him…”  Natasha opened the cupboard and rifled around for the box of bandages and a the antibiotic cream.  “Tell him to wrap a towel around himself and go to Bruce’s room to get some pants. Bruce is in the lab, right?”

“Yes, he’s been in the laboratory with Mr. Stark for over an hour.”

Natasha nods, finally locating the first aid kit.  “Tell him I’ll meet him in his room as soon as I can.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Clint is still crying when she gets back, but she manages to wipe the blood from his face and hands, apply the cream, and stick a bandaid to the cut without adding too much distress.  

“All better,” she says, trying to keep her voice hopeful. 

Clint nods a little.  “Thank you.”

She wraps him into a hug.  “Anytime.”  He turns his face away from her.  “I mean it.  You don’t have to feel stupid or helpless if you need to ask me for something.”

“Can…Can you stay?”

The dilemma.  She can’t resist the face, she really can’t— teary eyes, wobbling lip, pink cheeks—but she knew Steve’s would be much the same if she wasn’t down there in a few minutes.

“I…I’ll tell you what.  I was kind of in the middle of something that I really need to finish,” she says, rubbing her hand up and down his arm.  “But once I’m done, I’ll come back up and we can watch a movie together?”

Clint kind of likes the sound of that.  He looks up and nods with his eyes.  

“You pick the movie, okay?  Get some comfy pajamas on, pick a movie, and get in bed, and I’ll be back in just a little bit.”

She helps him off the floor and gives him a little hug before she leaves again.

Natasha finds Steve sitting on his bed patiently, swinging his legs a little, playing with his hands.  All his fear dissolves when Natasha pokes her head in the door.

“I’m sorry, little one,” she says, going to the closet to pick out a t-shirt for Steve.  “I had to take a phone call,” she lies.

“That’s okay.”  Steve lifts his arms up and lets her pull the shirt over his head.  “I went to Bruce’s room and got sweatpants.”

Natasha smiles at him, kisses his cheek. “Think it’s nap time?”

Steve nods and crawls under his covers.  He reaches for the teddy bear he keeps tucked up underneath his pillow and rubs his furry face against his own.  He rolls over onto his stomach.  “Can you rub my back?” He asks.

Natasha wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.

And Steve doesn’t tell her about the toys all over Bruce’s floor.  The little part of him thinks Bruce has lots of cool cars.  The big part of him wonders if Natasha already knows.


	5. So Wrap Me in Your Arms Real Tight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce loses a friend, but Mommy makes everything better.

It’s _gone_.

Her name is Pinkie, she’s a stuffed pig, and she’s Bruce’s friend. She’s not very big; she fits right into the crook of Bruce’s arm while he plays or takes a nap or when something scary happens.  Pinkie and Mommy are the only two people in the entire world who know of Bruce’s whole ageplay thing—if you don’t count JARVIS, that is—and now Pinkie is gone.

He first realizes it when he returns from helping Tony in the lab. 

“Pinkie?” He whispers, a smile in his voice.  He enters his bedroom, and it’s all just as he’d left it—little Matchbox cars scattered about the floor, and his finger-drawn starting line still visible in the carpet. “Pinkie?” He singsongs, giggling like the pig is playing a game of hide-and-seek with him.  He creeps up slowly and pulls back the covers on his bed.  “Pinkie!”

She’s not there.

He paws through all his sheets and blankets, throws his pillows off the bed, only to come up empty-handed.  He looks under his bed, next.  He lifts the bed skirt and…nothing.  Legos, puzzles, toy cars, but no Pinkie.

Bruce starts to feel his heart beat in his chest.  He hears it in his ears.  That taste of tears starts to form in the back of his throat.  He stands up and looks around the room.  She’s not on the bookshelf, the nightstand, the dresser.  He runs over and throws open the closet door.  There are jeans and t-shirts and button-downs and suits, but Pinkie’s plush, pink fur never makes an appearance.

He sits down in the middle of the floor and tries to think.  Pinkie never leaves his room.  Never.  Where could she be?  The thought nags at him, and he feels his tummy grow tight with anxiety.

Meanwhile, that comforting, childhood smell of carb-heavy pasta and “cheese” wafts through the Tower’s vents. Natasha doesn’t claim to be some sort of culinary mastermind, but she _can_ make the macaroni that comes out of the blue box, and she supposes that’s good enough. She opens a channel via JARVIS and invites them all down to the kitchen for dinner.  She scoops them each a large helping and sets the bowls in front of their usual seats at the table.

Clint shows first. Clint is always first.  He climbs up onto his chair and swings his legs, like he always does, but Natasha wonders now if it’s a sign of his being little.

Steve is close behind him, running practically, and his stomach is growling like he _hadn’t_ eaten those eight pancakes at breakfast.

Tony is a few minutes behind him, still flipping through something on his StarkPad, which he tucks away immediately after Natasha gives him a look that means, “No electronics at the table, young man.” 

Bruce appears shortly after him, dragging his feet, his eyes fixed downward.

“Took you long enough,” Clint says with an eye roll.  The second Bruce sits down across from him, his fork is in his mouth.

Natasha notices the way Bruce doesn’t have anything to quip back, the way he doesn’t roll his eyes, or even laugh.  Instead, he picks up his fork like it’s going to burn him and pokes his food with it, chasing the noodles around the rim of the bowl.  She watches him for a minute—just about as long as she dares before someone will wonder why.  And even after that, she steals little glances, watches how he takes a few bites, then chews the end of his fork for a while.  It concerns her, though she doesn’t dare ask him what’s wrong.

And that’s not to say she’s distracted. Of course not. She keeps her eyes on the rest of the table, noticing the uncomfortable way Steve shifts in his seat, almost like he doesn’t want to sit all the way down—he’s doing some variation of the wet-diaper dance.  

“Steve, there’s a file I need to show you,” she says, code for, ‘You need a change.’

Steve nods, then bows his head, clearly trying very hard to keep the blush on his cheeks hidden.  He shouldn’t be surprised that she knows, because _Natasha always knows_ , but he hopes it’s not otherwise obvious.  “Yeah, after dinner,” he says, curtly.

“Who’s got dishes tonight?” Natasha asks, at risk of sounding a little motherly.  She plays it off with a little smile.

“Me,” Clint says, softly, and there is a little bit of cheese on his chin.  It takes a lot for Natasha not to reach over and wipe it off for him.

“I’ll do the counters,” Tony offers.  

And that is that.

+

Natasha suggests a movie after dinner, and, although separately, they all know not to argue.

But Bruce almost does.  His chest tugs toward his bedroom.  He wants Pinkie worse than anything.  Where could she be?  He needs to find her.  Assuming she can be found, that is.  What if she was accidentally thrown away?  What if someone else found her?  Bruce feels that tightness in his tummy again, and he doesn’t hear what Clint asks him.

“Hey.  Earth to Bruce.”

Bruce’s eyes flash up.  “Sorry.  What?”

“I just asked if you wanted popcorn.”  

Bruce nods at him, absentmindedly.  

“And do you think Steve will?”  Bruce doesn’t respond.  “Bruce,” Clint pokes.

“Huh?”

“Do you think Steve will want popcorn?”

Luckily, Natasha and Steve return from, “looking over” that “file,” in time for Steve to answer for himself that he, of course, would like a bowl of popcorn. 

“What movie should we watch?” Natasha asks, directing her question at Bruce with a smile slightly too large.  “There’s _Hunger Games_ , _Lord of the Rings_ —”

“Veto,” Tony butts in.  “That one’s like seven hours long.”

Natasha shakes her head at him and rolls her eyes a little.  “Fine.  _Harry Potter_?”

Bruce nods at that.  He picks the fourth one and JARVIS pulls it up on the TV screen.

Movie night is always a hit in the Tower.  Steve throws himself down on one of the sofas, next to Tony who tries not to spill the popcorn.  Clint collapses into the big sofa, next to Natasha, who’s next to Bruce.  That familiar theme music starts and the whole living room is silent with anticipation.

Natasha sits as close as she possibly can to Bruce without touching him or encroaching on his personal space.  He is stiff; he doesn’t settle into the soft spot of the sofa like he normally does.  She can’t console him, and she knows she can’t—that would cause more anxiety than it’s worth.  She looks over and smiles at him, eyes hopeful.  He doesn’t look at her because he can’t.

The movie is very long.  It’s one of Bruce’s favorites, but he can’t hardly enjoy it.  He just can’t stop thinking about Pinkie.  His head feels heavy with the thought of it.  It all spins around and around up there, and he doesn’t know how to stop it.  He drums his fingers against the edge of the sofa and holds his bottom lip firmly between his teeth.

By the time the credits roll, which is two hours later, everyone is looking rather tired.

Steve is slumped over the arm of the sofa, barely holding onto being awake.  Tony’s been having a hard time holding his head up.  Clint has been out cold for at least half an hour.  Bruce’s eyes are softer, rounder, and his eyelids look as though they have weights attached to them.

“I’m going to bed,” Natasha announces, waking Clint.  She stands and stretches a little bit, making separate eye contact with each of her boys as if to tell them that they’d better go to bed, too.  

It is needless to mention that they all traipse up to their bedrooms right after her.

+

Natasha elects to tuck Bruce in first tonight, for obvious reasons.

She raps her knuckles four times against his bedroom door to no answer.  She tries again, then looks down the hall a ways to find that the bathroom light isn’t on.  She knocks once more, waits a moment, then opens the door slowly. 

The light is on.  And every square inch of the floor is covered with _stuff—_ all the books have been thrown from their shelves, the clothes are off their hangers and piled on the floor of the closet, drawers are opened and emptied, and toys are simply everywhere.  

Bruce is seemingly _everywhere_ , too.  Natasha creeps in and crouches down next to him.  He’s sitting in the middle of the floor, in the eye of the hurricane he’s created.  She puts her hand on his shoulder, which quakes.  He looks up at her, and his eyes are full to the brim with tears.  His cheeks are flushed.  Natasha kneels on the floor and wraps her arms around him tightly.

“What’s going on?” She asks, voice sweet and soft.  “Looks like you’ve had a rough day.”

Bruce sniffles and nods into her chest.  “Pinkie is gone.”

Natasha sighs.  That would explain the mess.  “And you’ve looked everywhere?”

“Yeah, and she’s just _gone_.  What if somebody took her?”

She rubs his back in little circles, and he relinquishes himself into her touch.  “I’m sure no one took her.  You looked under your bed?”  A little nod.  “In your bed?” Nod.  “Under your dresser?  Closet?”  Nod, nod.  “Laundry hamper?”

He peels himself away from her and stands up.  He walks over to the corner—the only untouched part—of his room and digs around in his hamper for a few minutes.  Sure enough, the little pig is there, under a pair of jeans and some socks, looking incredibly happy to finally be found.

Bruce’s heart erupts.  He sits right down on the floor and hugs her as tight to his chest as he can.  Natasha joins him.  She scratches the top of Pinkie’s head.  “Glad to have you back,” she says.

“Me, too,” Bruce sighs, all the tears gone from his voice.

Natasha kisses the side of his face. “Feel better?”

“Lots better.”  He looks around him.  “Sorry I made a big mess.”

“We’ll clean tomorrow,” Natasha laughs.  She helps him to his feet. “Let’s get you ready for bed, okay?”  

He smiles like the sun itself, and Natasha swears she hasn’t seen him this happy in months.  “Can you read me a story, Mommy?  Please?”

“Sure, baby.  Which one?”

Bruce looks at his little storybooks which are now scattered amongst his heavy volumes of medical texts all over the floor and laughs to himself a little.  He picks up _If you Give a Pig A Pancake_ , which is right underneath _Corduroy_ …

“…Maybe we can read two books?”

Natasha gives that close-eyed, close-lipped smile.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments! It's amazing. 
> 
> Also!! Expect three more chapters relatively soon (I want to finish this fic before move-in day). I intend to make this a three-part series, with each separate fic being 8 chapters.


	6. And Never Let Me Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natasha talk.

“Miss Romanov, your presence is requested in Mr. Barton’s quarters.”

Bruce is fast asleep, and Natasha has already done the whole tuck-in ritual with Steve and Tony, so Clint is next on her list.  She takes the elevator up to his floor.

She isn’t sure what she’s expecting as she knocks on his bedroom door—tears, blood, an accident?—but she _really_ isn’t expecting him to answer it.

“Clint?”

“I need to talk to you.”

So she follows him into his room and sits on the edge of the bed as he leads her to it.  She crosses her legs and keeps her smile a neutral as possible.  She doesn’t know if she’s dealing with little Clint, or the adult version, and she really doesn’t want to upset either.  “What do you want to talk about?” She asks.

He stands in front of her and puts his hands on his hips.  “Thank you for helping me last night.”

She doesn’t know what he wants her to say, so she just nods.

“No one’s ever seen me when I…do that…before.”

Her smile falters a little as she watches him begin to pace back and forth the length of the room, his hands hooked in the pockets of his sweatpants, now.  He keeps his eyes trained on the floor.

“I know you know a lot of things about me,” he says, and it sounds like it’s being pulled from his throat, like even he can’t believe what he’s saying, “but I need to tell you something, and can you let me get through all of it before you say anything?”  His eyes are big and pressing.  “And please don’t leave,” he adds, those last few words tumbling out of his mouth.

The corner of her mouth turns up slightly.  “Okay.  I won’t leave.”

Clint sucks in a breath big enough to take all the air out of the room, and he holds it for a few seconds before forcing it back out.  He can’t look at her.

“Okay, okay,” he says, gearing himself up, getting a running start before he dives in. “When I was a kid, I…I never really got to be a kid.  You know.  All the stuff my dad did—I’ve told you all that before.  And Barney taught me how to fight, and I learned how to shoot when we were with the circus.  So, I know how to fight.  I’ve always known how to fight.  All the bad things that happen, all the bad guys, and I just fight.”

He winces like it pains him to say all of it, but Natasha knows all this as well as he does.  He swallows hard and continues on.

“And now, it’s easy to fight, like people.  Bad people.”  Natasha can feel how much he fluctuates in and out of headspace—all these adult concepts are muddled with small words—it’s the mark of someone who doesn’t quite know how to handle ageplay.  But she understands him.  She also knows he wouldn’t believe it if she told him. Clint shakes his head a little bit.  “But some things you can’t fight.  Like, after New York, and how I get these bad thoughts about what happened, and I feel so guilty.  It’s all just a big mess up there, you know?  And I didn’t know what to do, because I can’t just fight my way out of it.”

Tears form in the corners of his eyes, and he stops pacing.  He turns around to look at Natasha for the first time, and her expression—calm, a small smile, her eyes soft and kind—soothes him.  He sits down on the bed right next to her.  He talks directly to her face, now.

“And then I was in a store one day.  And I saw that teddy bear,” he points to the little chocolate bear with his eyes, “and I don’t think I ever wanted anything else that bad in my whole life.  I was so nervous, but I bought him anyway, and it made me so happy, just to have something small and soft, something that I didn’t have to fight.”  

His chest heaves.  He reaches for the bear and pulls it onto his lap.  He looks it in the little plastic eyes and smiles, just slightly.

“And the whole time, I knew it was so weird, because I’m a grown man, and…but.  It made me feel better.  I don’t know why.  And so I just started buying other things, too.  My blankie.  Pacifier.  And the, um.  Diapers.”

He slams his eyes shut and twists his mouth up.  He lets little short breaths out of his nostrils.

Natasha wants to encourage him, to tell him that everything is going to be okay, but instead, she keeps that neutral manner about her and remains silent.

He calms himself down after a minute or two, enough to keep going.

“I always had accidents.  Only sometimes, not every day, but at night mostly.  I don’t know what it’s from, it just happens.  I used to buy those really scratchy underwear they have for, like,” he shrugs, “people like me, I guess.  But, then I found these diapers, and.  I.  I like them.  I like them _a lot_.  They’re soft, and tight, and I don’t have to worry about leaking anymore, and I just feel so much better when I’m wearing them.  Just really safe.  So I just started using them all the time.  It gets hard to change them sometimes, but learned how to do it.  I don’t know how to explain why I do it, I just.  I like the way it makes me feel.”

He bites his lip and looks right at her.

“Okay.  I’m done, now.  You can say whatever you want.  Just please don’t leave.”

Natasha sighs.  “Why are you so worried about me leaving?”

His tears spill over.  The corner of his mouth tugs as he tries to stop them.  “I don’t want to be alone.”

Natasha slides over a few inches and pulls him closer.  He lets his body fall, and he buries his face in her lap.  He sniffles, and she draws circles in the hair at the nape of his neck.  

“You don’t have to be alone if you don’t want to be,” she starts, voice like a lullaby.  “If you want me to, I’ll take care of you.  Just like last night.  That can be every night, if you want.”

Clint picks his head up.  “You can’t tell everyone else.  They can’t know.  They’ll make fun of me.  Tony won’t let me live here anymore—”

With something very knowing in her voice, she says, “I won’t tell anyone.”  He hums in thanks and rests his head against her legs once again.  “Can I ask…?”

“Anything.”

“What would you like me to do?  As far as taking care of you.”  

He sits up a little and looks at her with eyes as big as golf balls.  “Cuddling was nice, and watching movies,” he says.  “And earlier.  When you helped me get a band-aid and made me feel less scared.  I really liked that.”

Natasha nods and smiles at that. “Would you like me to change you?”

Clint’s cheeks go very pink.  “That’s a lot to ask.”

“Is that what you want?”  He gives her one very stiff nod.  “I can do that for you.”

Clint’s arms are suddenly around her and crushing her ribcage, but she just hugs him back.  “What do I call you?” He asks as he pulls back, breathing almost like he’s out of breath.

“Whatever you want.”

“But what do you want me to call you?”

“Whatever you want to call me.”

They play the back and forth a few more times before Clint blurts out, “Mommy?” His brows knit together in the center of his forehead.  “Can I call you that?”

“Yeah.”

A little smile appears on Clint’s face.  It starts in the very corners of his mouth and expands inward like a ripple effect, and then he’s grinning, beaming with hope.

“Mommy,” he says again, sounding like he’s waited _years_ to say it.

Natasha wraps her arms around his shoulders and kisses his cheek gently.  “I won’t leave,” she says, very softly, then pulls him up into bed and and helps him get situated under all the covers.

“All night?” He asks.

“All night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just 2 more chapters! They will both be up by Thursday. Thanks everyone for all the hits and kudos! I'm glad you're liking this fic : )


	7. The World is a Real Scary Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has a panic attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is rather late. Packing took longer than expected, but move-in went great! I'm loving my new apartment and my new city. : )

It’s the next afternoon and Natasha wanders down to the lab to tell Tony that seven hours is long enough to spend in a half-lit room surrounded only by robots, scrap metal, and miscellaneous computer parts.  She made lunch—turkey sandwiches—an hour ago, but Tony couldn’t be bothered.   It was too often that Tony couldn’t be bothered.  She walks into the lab with the full intention of giving him a stern talking-to on that very subject.

But instead she finds him in one of his wild inventive spells, which she really should’ve seen coming.

“You’ve _got_ to see this,” Tony babbles, voice all high-pitched and giddy like a kid in a candy store.  “Sit down, I have to show you. I made this.”

The smile on his face is too sweet to ruin, so she decides to just take a seat.

He turns around and produces some kind of head-to-toe lycra bodysuit, black, with little yellow sensors blinking all over it, and a pair of what look to be ski goggles.

“New suit?” She jokes.

“No.” He shakes his head so hard, Natasha thinks it might come unscrewed.  “ _Way_ better.”

And he explains:

With virtual reality emerging as a lucrative market, it’s only natural that Stark Industries is at the helm of it.  StarkVR couples an intensive memory sequence with 360-degree HD imagery, surround sound, sensory tactile gloves, and even a scent function.  It cuts the edge of cutting-edge.  It’s lightyears before its time.  Needless to note that Tony is very proud of himself.

“You can vividly relive any memory you’ve ever had,” he says, sounding out of breath, with that mad scientist grin and an unending light in his eyes.  “You can vividly relive _anyone’s_ memories.  It’s revolutionary!”

Natasha nods and gives him that look of approval that he craves.  “I’m very impressed.  Though I wouldn’t expect anything less out of you.”

Tony beams like a laser under her praise.

“Why don’t we go upstairs and have lunch?” 

Tony shakes his head and goes back to his holographic screen, scrolling through lines and lines of code.  “No, there’s just this one last function I have to perfect.”  

He doesn’t have to turn around to tell that Natasha is giving him _that look_.  “Tony—”

“It’ll take me like twenty minutes, tops,” he rushes out before she can say anything otherwise.

“Twenty minutes,” Natasha says, climbing down from the uncomfortable lab stool and walking over to give Tony a kiss on the cheek.  “You know what happens if you’re longer, right?”

Tony blushes all blotchy and red, but nods.  “Yes, Mommy.”

+

Steve likes reading books with Natasha.  He likes getting cuddled up all close next to her, he likes when she uses different voices for all the characters, and he likes when she makes faces to go along with them.  He especially likes _The Velveteen Rabbit_ because he remembers it from being really little.

These are the things that make naptime bearable.

Steve is in just his diaper, a white t-shirt, and socks, his teddy bear hooked under the crook of his arm, as he waits for Natasha to find the book where its hidden on his shelf.

He gets this really giddy feeling in his tummy when she sits down next to him, pulls her legs up onto the bed, and opens the book.  It makes that pleasant sound as the binding cracks open.  Steve loves how the pages look so glossy and brand new, and how the illustrations are colorful and so life-like.  His eyes get big as Natasha takes the deep breath to read the title and—

“Miss Romanov—”

There is something unnervingly urgent in JARVIS’ voice that tears her attention from the book, and from Steve, who looks up at her and patiently waits for her to go on.

“Mommy?” He asks.  “What—”

“—there is a situation occurring in the laboratory.”

Natasha’s brows wrinkle.  “Can Tony not take care of his own situation?” She asks, trying to play off the real concern in her voice.  She glances at Steve who seems not to notice that it is, indeed, out of the ordinary for JARVIS to be saying something like this.

Discretion is in JARVIS’ programming.  But so is the maintenance of Tony’s wellbeing.  This was perhaps an override.

“Mr. Stark is experiencing a panic attack.”

Natasha set book in Steve’s lap and stood up.

“You don’t have to go,” Steve says, hopping up after her.  “Tony probably doesn’t even want anyone around him.”

Natasha shoots him an empathetic look.  “Wouldn’t you want someone around if you were having a scary panic attack?” She asks.

Steve nods, because _of course_.  “But you’re my _mommy_.  Tony doesn’t have anyone to take care of him.”

Natasha kisses Steve on the forehead.  “I’ll be right back,” she says, and skirts out of the room.

(Steve waits a few minutes so she won’t notice, puts some pants on, and follows her.)

It’s an absolute shit show to say the least.

Natasha doesn’t even see Tony at first.  The whole lab is torn apart around him—metal pieces and parts strewn haphazardly about the floor, the contents of the workstations no longer organized in their drawers, a StarkPad shattered on the ground, programs open and running on holoscreens, all making noise and requiring immediate attention.

She finds him under one of the workstations, wearing that ridiculous black lycra suit, the yellow sensor lights still blinking all over it.  His head his pressed into his hands so tight his fingers leave indents on his face.  He breathes like his lungs only work every other breath.  And the noise that escapes his lips-dripping-tears is nothing short of violent.

Natasha kneels down and pulls herself under the workstation and lets her body rest against his.

“Mommy?” He asks, voice wet.

“Yeah, baby.”  She puts a hand on his shoulder.  “Is this okay?”

He nods and nods.  “Cuddle me, please?”

Natasha wraps her arms around him and holds him as the anxiety wracks its way through his body and his brain.  It’s so painful to watch, to be this close to a body trembling uncontrollably, a set of lungs playing catch up with oxygen, torrentially raining eyes, but Natasha doesn’t move.  She presses her body and Tony’s so close together that nothing more could possibly seep in between them.  She starts to feel him relax.

After a few minutes, he takes his hands from his eyes, which are all wrecked and red and glassy.  He looks up at her and feels this peace come over him.  He hugs her back.  “I needed you so much,” he says, face buried in her chest.

“And I came, didn’t I?”

Tony nods.  “I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you, too.”  She kisses his flushed cheek.  “Now, can we get out from under here?  We can get some lunch in your tummy and go cuddle in my bed.”

“And watch _Cars_?” He asks softly.

Natasha smiles at him in a way that means, _I wouldn’t expect anything different_ , and grabs his hands.  She helps him stand, making sure he doesn’t bump his head against the table.  Tony gets a good look at the aftermath.

“What happened?” Natasha asks.

Tony takes a deep, rattling breath.  “My VR suit.  I was trying to, um, reconfigure the flying mechanism.  So I had to come up with a memory where I was flying, so I could test it out.  And stupid, stupid, stupid me—of all the times I’ve ever flown—I had to choose the one memory where I fall instead.”

Natasha sighs.

“I just kept falling and I didn’t know how to stop it, and I guess I made the damn thing too well because I forgot that it was just a simulation, and then all of a sudden I was having a panic attack.”

“And he kept calling for you, Mommy,” another voice says.

Tony and Natasha turn around to find Bruce standing in the doorway, a blush on his cheeks, because he knows he shouldn’t be there, saying what he’s saying.  A moment later, Steve peaks out from behind a corner, too.  And Natasha knows that Clint is somewhere listening from the ventilation shafts.

There’s not a secret anymore.

But just what to do with what remains?


	8. And Scariest Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! We learn what happens in the aftermath of all the boys finding out about each other. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here you go. Final chapter! Thank you all for reading, commenting, subscribing, and giving kudos. I have loved writing this story for you. Please read and enjoy! I also have some exciting news in the end notes!

They’re all in such a state of shock that Natasha doesn’t have any problem collecting them and ushering them into the living room. They sit as far from each other as the sofas in the room will allow, and Natasha places herself on the center ottoman, arms tucked to her chest, concealing something.  She gives them each a little smile, but they’re all in varying states of uncomfortable. Steve bites his lip, Bruce stares blankly, Clint hides his face.  Tony refuses to look at her at all. 

“I’ll talk first then,” she says, and with all this time, she’s imagined how this conversation might go.  “I think we have two options, here.  We can go on pretending like this never happened, and we don’t ever have to talk about this ever again.”  She waits for a head shake or eye contact or something, but gets no response out of them.  “The other option is that we take this out into the open. You all can still be my special boys.  This is a secret that you’ve all kept from each other for a long time now, and it’s okay to feel funny about it.  It’s something we can work through together.”

A dead room follows.  Total, uncomfortable silence.

Natasha takes a deep breath and unfolds her arms, revealing a story book.

Steve suddenly leans forward.  “Rabbit?” He asks, seemingly forgetting for a moment that there is something to be embarrassed about.  He looks up at Natasha with those deep blue eyes.  “Is that the _Velveteen Rabbit_ book?”  Natasha hums.  “Are you gonna read it?”

She nods.  “Do you want to sit with me so you can look at the pictures?” There is a honey sweetness to her voice, drizzling over every word.

Steve shrinks back and tucks his knees up to his chest, shaking his head with his eyes.

Clint perks up a bit, though.  “I kinda want to see the pictures.”

Natasha slides over on the ottoman and pats the space next to her.  Clint gets up, looking around at the others, who watch him curiously.  He pulls his teddy bear out of the crook of the sofa and dangles it by the arm as if he’s too afraid to cuddle it in front of the others.  He sits as close to Natasha as he possibly can and rests his head on her shoulder. His eyes go soft at the sight of the illustrations, and she reads, “There once was a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning, it was very splendid…”

It doesn’t take but a minute for the rest of them to pull themselves off the sofas and gather a little closer so they can see the pictures, too.  And then they’re riveted to Natasha’s every word, shame seemingly forgotten.  They hold their stuffed friends to their chests and watch Natasha, totally enraptured.  They all realize, if separately, they they all _love_ this story.  And that they love it most of all when Mommy is reading it to them.

“‘What is Real?’ asked the Rabbit one day…” Natasha reads, using an innocent little rabbit voice.  “…‘Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse.  ‘It’s a thing that happens to you.  When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but _really_ loves you, then you become Real.’”

There is a small gasp. 

“Does that mean you’re Real, Mommy?” Bruce asks

Natasha smiles, little crinkles forming next to the half-moons of her closed eyes.  She laughs a bit under her breath as she pulls Bruce a little closer to kiss his forehead.  “Of course it does,” she says, and the sudden grin on Bruce’s face is the kind of thing stars are made of.  “My boys loved me so so much that, bit by bit, I became Real.  I became their Mommy.”

Steve nods and nods. “And you’ll never not be Real, right?  Remember how the Skin Horse says that once you’re Real it lasts forever?  That means you’ll be our Mommy forever.”

It’s a loaded statement.  Natasha breaks it all down as she looks at Steve, and then all of them— the way he remembers the story almost word for word and the memories of what must be the hundreds of times that they sat in bed and read it together, the way he wants her to be his Mommy forever, the way he uses “our”—and she realizes, if for the first time, that everything is going to be okay.

+

They talk long into the night, and the conversation is all giggles and teddy bear introductions and  stories and debates about favorite cartoons, and Natasha doesn’t know if she’s ever been filled with this much joy in all her life.  She loves the way Steve’s eyes get bigger and bluer when he laughs, and how just about everything makes him laugh.  How Tony loves _Pixar_ movies and won’t stop talking about _Cars_.  The way Bruce introduces his stuffed pig, Pinkie, and how the others give her hugs and welcome her in.  How Clint fits right into the middle of it all despite the fact he’s new to sharing this part of himself with others.

When there’s a lull, Steve takes a deep breath.

“I knew about Bruce,” he blurts out.  “I saw Bruce’s toys in his room, but I didn’t tell anyone because if they were my toys I wouldn’t want someone to say anything about them.”  Steve doesn’t turn to Bruce until after he’s finished, and then they look at each other for a moment, until they spring toward each other and land in a hug.

“Thanks,” Bruce says, voice warm.

Steve lets himself smile again.  “You have really cool toys.”

Bruce beams. “You can play with them sometime, whenever you want.  Mommy races cars with me sometimes, but it would be really fun if I had someone who’s little like me to race with.”

“Like a friend?” Comes a small voice from Clint’s mouth. “I’ll be your friend! I like playing cars, too!”

Bruce nods like crazy.  “You can play, too!  And Tony can, if he wants to.  Mommy said that sharing makes everything more fun.”

Natasha can’t help but feel a little proud about that.  “You can all be friends,” she encourages.  “Then you’ll always have someone to play with.”

“I want to have brothers,” Tony blurts out, something wonderful sparkling in his eyes.  “I always wanted brothers.”

The boys all look around and make eye contact with each other.  Just like that, between them, it’s decided.

“Are we allowed to be brothers?” Clint thinks to ask, looking up at Natasha.

(And who could say no to a face like that?)

+

Somehow, they all end up in Natasha’s bed.

It starts when she tells them that it’s bedtime.  They follow her upstairs like a little trail of ducklings and pack themselves into the elevator.

“Mommy, will you sleep with me tonight?” Tony asks, yawning.

“No, I want Mommy to sleep with me!” And it doesn’t even matter who says it, because…

“That’s not fair!”

“But I want Mommy to sleep with _me_!”

“No!”

“She was my Mommy first!”

“ _Boys._ ”

Four sets of guilty eyes turn toward Natasha.

“I know you’re all used to having me to yourself, but things are going to have to change a little bit around here.  For now, I want all of you to go to your rooms and pick out some PJs, and then come upstairs to brush your teeth.  Clear?”

They all nod vehemently and do as they’re told.

Ten minutes later, the four of them are huddled around the sink, obediently brushing their teeth for the full two minutes.  Bruce spits and rinses and asks, “Mommy, did you used to tuck all of us in every single night?”

Natasha nods.  “And you had no idea, did you?”

Steve shakes his head as Natasha towels the toothpaste from his mouth.  “Why?”

“Why what?” She asks, handing Tony a little Dixie cup of water for him to rinse and spit.

Steve cocks his head to the side in thought.  “Why did you tuck all of us in every night?” He asks, then breaths.  “And why do you make us food for breakfast, and dinner and lunch?  And why do you help with bath time and diapers and getting dressed and all that stuff?”

“Because.”  She gives Steve a kiss on the top of his head.  “That’s what mommies do.”

“But why did you want to be a mommy?” Clint asks.

Natasha laughs to herself a bit.  “I didn’t really get to choose,” she says.  “But, looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Diaper changes operate one at a time, because, while Natasha is an international spy, she only has two hands.  She has the boys line up in the hall outside and wait their turn to avoid anyone being embarrassed. 

When it’s all over, inevitably, someone asks, “Can we have cuddles and a story?”

“But together,” Tony adds.  Even while he’s little, he never loses that authority to his voice.  The others nod along.  “I want to have cuddles and stories with everyone.”

That makes Natasha feel warm. “Why don’t we all have cuddles in my bed?” She suggests.  “And you can sleep there, too.  It’ll be like a little sleep over.”

This gets them all excited and bouncing around, of course.

“Can we read the rest of the _Velveteen Rabbit_?” Steve asks, earning noises of agreement from te rest of them.

And so they all pile into Natasha’s king bed.  It’s a mess of limbs and stuffies and the excitement of little boys.  There aren’t enough blankets, and there’s not enough space, but something about that doesn’t matter to any of them, especially Natasha.  She situates herself in the middle, Clint and Steve on her left and Tony and Bruce on her right, and she opens the book to the page where they’d left off.  That same look of wonderment returns to their eyes, and they press in as close as they possibly can to get a better look at the illustrations.  She reads and reads, and as quickly as they were riled up, she watches them wind down into sleep.  It’s so interesting to her; she’s seen them all fall asleep separately, but never like this.

Tony falls first, and it’s no surprise.  When he’s awake, he’s awake, but he has a switch.  Natasha is only a few pages in before he’s out like a light, softly snoring, his head falling to rest on Natasha’s shoulder.

Steve goes in stages.  He lets his body relax starting with his shoulders all the way down to his toes.  He makes sure his teddy bear is cradled nicely in his arms, and then he lets himself close his eyes and focus on Natasha’s words.  He’s asleep only a minute or two after Tony.

Clint is next.  He doesn’t have a pacifier, so his thumb wanders up and finds its place between his lips.  It comforts him.  He spreads out as much as he can and rests his head on Natasha’s lap, looking at the pictures as she flips each page.  Natasha looks down to check on him, and his eyes have shut.

Bruce hangs on as long as he possibly can, and he manages to keep his eyes open until the second to last paragraph. His face then softens and melts into calmness.  He pulls his stuffed pig up so that the pink fur tickles under his chin, his breathing slows, and then all of Natasha’s boys are fast asleep.

“But he never really knew it was his own bunny,” Natasha reads the last line, voice softer, “come back to look at the child who had first helped him to be Real.”

She closes the book and sets it on the nightstand.  JARVIS gets the lights.

Some days, Natasha doesn’t know how she got here.  Most days, she doesn’t know how she got so lucky.  She doesn’t quite understand how it is that she’s come to love them all in this way and _so much_.  It all felt so natural, and it still does.  Though, now there’s a level of permanence to it that she never felt before.  She’s their mommy.  They’re her little boys.  Natasha wasn’t trained to be domestic, and no one is trained for _this_ , but she’s never felt more qualified for a job.

Life isn’t meant to be lived alone, she decides as she falls asleep, too, stroking one’s hair, rubbing one’s back, surrounded by—as far as she’s concerned—all the love in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I hop you enjoyed it! While this may be the final chapter of this fic specifically, I plan on writing another 8-chapter fic and making this into a little series! So no worries, this verse will be revisited! 
> 
> Before I start on that though, I have a few plot bunnies rolling around in my head that I'd like to write, a few little (or big) projects that I'd like to get out before a second part of this. So be on the lookout for those!
> 
> Also, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE follow me on my new tumblr! https://avengersageplay.tumblr.com  
> This is the best (and most fun) way to get updates on whether or not I'll post, and also if you want to interact with me, that would be cool, too. I just made the tumblr, so I'm quite short on followers and people to follow, so if you follow me, I'll give you a follow back. 
> 
> Once again, thank you all so much!
> 
> (https://avengersageplay.tumblr.com)


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